The Nanny
by LunaCangiante
Summary: Post-Game but I haven't forgotten about them. If Booker's going to raise his daughter, he's going to need some help. He hires a nanny who may just drive him insane.
1. Chapter 1

So much to my dismay, I watched Marry Poppins and played Bioshock Infinite. Now all I could think of were ideas about if Booker had a nanny for Anna. This is why watching movies and then playing videogames should not happen with me. I think of some of the most random crap sometimes. On that note, no this is not a Marry Poppins crossover, but I did steal some elements but really that could be from anything with a nanny in it and I think you'll recognize what I mean when the character is actually introduced but I don't want to give too much away. So without further ado and my ramblings stopped I give you the story: MOVING ON…

Disclaimer: Bioshock Infinate and all characters are the product Irrational Games and I am not associated with either of these people and therefore no money was made from this.

"Anna," Booker's head shot up from the desk he didn't realize he'd fallen asleep at. He glimpsed at his surroundings, his shabby home the messy desk with various bets and bottles littering it. When Booker's eye caught the calendar, he thought he may have fainted. October 8th, 1893. Was this a second chance for him?

He shot out of his chair and to the door, "Anna," he whispered. "Is that you?" He inched closer and closer to the crib, bracing himself for disappointment that she wouldn't be there. But as he leaned over to look inside, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. There his daughter, Anna DeWitt, laid peacefully sleeping. Booker felt an immense sense of relief wash over him, it must have been a nightmare. He couldn't help but smile a little when Anna opened her mouth and cooed before kicking her tiny foot then let out a long, content breath.

There was a sudden knock at the door, not loud, but enough to draw Booker's attention. He sighed, no doubt it was something to do with the Pinkerton's again. His termination, he wondered, he did get a little carried away at the last strike when he'd beaten a man to death just for calling him a mindless slave-driving Pink. He normally would have agreed, but that was a really bad day and that man's face was the closest thing to his fist. Though in his defense it got results. Still the higher ups at Pinkerton were not happy with his performance and he knew he was on pretty thin ice.

He left Anna to sleep contently while he answered the door. Samuel Moorely, another Pinkerton like Booker, stood at his door. Booker braced himself for the news, he didn't particularly care for the job, but it put food on the table for himself and his daughter. Losing it would be difficult if he was going to provide for his family like he was supposed to. "Moorely," he said curtly.

"DeWitt," he replied. Moorely was a head shorter than Booker, having to look up to speak to his coworker, with beady brown eyes and a wide forehead. His physique was best described as roly-poly, not quite fat, but certainly not at peak physical condition. His eyes narrowed at Booker, as he entered the office. "I must say I was expecting something a little less… Shabby."

"Are you here to play homemaker or do you need something," Booker snapped. He did not want to be bothered, and with the men's history, he especially didn't want to be bothered by Moorely.

"The Pinkertons aren't happy with you Booker," he studied all the betting slips on Booker's desk and frowned. "They don't much like the idea of an ill-tempered drunk making a mess of things." He read the slips and raised an eyebrow. "This horse didn't win last night."

"No shit," Booker snatched the slip out of the portly man's hand. "Now if this is something to do with the Pinkertons why don't you stop beating around the bush and tell me."

"That's a hell of a bet to lose," continued Moorely. Booker wanted desperately to punch him in the face, but refrained, the last thing he needed was to hear the Pinks complain about his temper again. "How are you paying for it? Wouldn't happen to do with whatever's behind that door?" He took a step towards the door but was quickly blocked off by Booker.

"What's behind that door is none of your goddamn business," Booker help out it arm to stop Moorely. "Either tell me the Pinks fired me, or get the hell out."

"Fine," Moorely's smirked. "You didn't get fired, against their better judgment no doubt. They do want you to know that it's one more slip up and you're done Booker. This time for good. In the meantime, they thought they could give you something a little more in your field. They want you to find a man named Thomas Higgins, making all sorts of trouble in the city trying to rally the unions. Do whatever it is you do best DeWitt, you may even earn your way back into the Pinkerton's good graces."

"That all?"

"That's what they want from you."

"Good, now get out."

"Very well, before I go, might I ask," he nodded his head to the door. "What is behind the door?"

"I already told you none of your goddamn-"

He was stopped by the sound of a loud wail. Shit, Anna was awake. Moorely's eyebrows shot up instantly, so this was what was making Booker so uptight. "A baby?"

"Yes."

"Is it yours?"

"Yeah."

Moorely was shocked to say the least, he had no idea Booker was a father. He had a hard time imagining the hot-tempered man trying to raise a child. Especially with the way he drank, it was a wonder he didn't drop the child. "How long has it been here?"

"Six months," answered Booker. Though it did make him pause for a moment, when the hell did half a year pass by so quickly? Then again, in his dream twenty years had passed so he guessed he shouldn't have been so surprised. Moorely's questioning gaze still didn't leave his face. He knew Booker had been married for a brief period of time, he even heard about her death, but the baby was news to him. "Now if you have nothing else to tell me, you need to go."

Strangely, Moorely was more than happy to leave. "Well then, you know what you're supposed to do, best not keep the Pinks waiting. I'll show myself out."

"Good." Moorely left almost immediately, closing the door softly behind him. With a sigh, Booker entered the small bedroom where his daughter wrestled with the blankets then stopped suddenly when her father peered in from over her crib. She smiled and kicked her feet happily reaching her small hands up for her father. He didn't say anything, instead just reached inside to hold his daughter. The events of his dream still fresh in his mind. Giving her away to some mysterious man, so he could pay off a few debts. Though this did leave the question of how the hell he was going to pay them off. But that was something he could deal with later, at the moment he was too busy enjoying his daughter's company.

She babbled a whole bunch of nonsense to him, but he didn't seem to mind, instead he simply chuckled before setting her down to crawl. She explored the contents of their home and his office which was going to soon be too small for them. Booker noticed this with a sigh as Anna sat on her bottom, still babbling but settling on trying to reach her toes. She did manage to grab them, Booker noticed with astonishment, but as she tried to put them into her mouth she rolled backwards giggling as she laid on her back.

"One of these days kid," he said as he observed her amusements. "I'm going to get us out of New York. How does that sound?" She reached for his hair and gave it a quick tug, he winced but didn't stop her. She giggled again and put her fist into her mouth and gnawed on it for a moment. "Yeah sounds good to me too."

He sat on his bed for a moment wondering where he would take the two of them. There wasn't very much he could afford with his… Habits. He frowned at the thought, he didn't really think about how he was affecting his family with his addiction to gambling and drinking. His wife never said much about it, and Anna couldn't even if she wanted to. Booker felt like deflating, the thoughts made him feel like a failure as a father. Was he really that selfish? He tried to take the thoughts out of his mind by busying himself on Thomas Higgins, especially given that he'd have to reign in his temper this time or he would soon be finding himself looking for another job. He'd need someone to look after Anna while he was gone especially if he was on a goose chase for just one man. Booker had done many jobs similar but they could become lengthy. He thought again on his dream, and frowned, how long did it take to find Elizab- erm, Anna? And a far more relevant question, how was he supposed to find someone to work for him when he wasn't exactly known for his social skills?

Anna crawled back to her father, now wanting the attention her toes were lacking. "Deh-deh-deh," her hands flapped merrily. After raising her by himself for six months, he knew very well what that translated to. 'What are you doing dad and why aren't I a part of it?' He looked down to the quizzing look of his daughter, he picked her up again and sat her on his stomach.

"Looks like we're going to have to hire a nanny," he sighed giving into his realization. "Don't know how the hell I'm going to find one." Anna put her hands by his mouth, he backed his head out of her reach. "Or pay her. We're in enough debt as it is." Anna stopped what she was doing and instead stared at her father. If Booker hadn't known any better, he would have thought she was really listening and understanding what he was saying.

"Deh-deh-deh," she conversed. Booker raised an eyebrow. She certainly had a lot to say today as she looked at Booker with a serious expression on her face. She shook her head and continued to 'speak' to him. Booker found it amusing to say the least. He found himself nodding and every so often answering with a brief 'uh-huh' or 'hmmm.' Finally she stopped and gnawed on her left hand again. Booker was glad to see that her tiny pinky was still there, not replaced by a thimble.

"_I hear they're all the rage in Paris."_

"Yeah I know," he agreed as Anna kept babbling on and on. Whatever she was telling him, it was obviously important. She normally didn't carry on like this, she usually kept conversation light with a few 'deh-deh' and then finding something else to do. But today, she was very interested in her father. Booker didn't seem to mind it though, as a matter of fact he liked having someone to talk to that didn't talk back about his job, or his drinking, or his gambling. Her conversations usually consisted of needing to be changed, fed, or wanting to be nosey.

She pointed at the newspaper on the ground next to the bed. "Deh!" She demanded. He glanced down, the classified section faced up. Booker was a little taken back, did she see that? Did she know what he was saying to her? How old was she again? "Deh!" She exclaimed again, Booker looked down at the ads, finding a list of nannies looking for work. 'Well', he thought glancing between Anna and the paper, 'that was easy'. He browsed through the list, they all seemed as good a nanny as any. Still, he was more impressed by his daughter's ability to find the classified section. He noticed she was still pointing at the floor, something else was down there that she wanted. His gaze followed her finger, her rattle was on the floor.

Oh. Well that was just a very convenient coincident.

He reached down again and handed Anna the rattle which she took to swinging like a club, much to Booker's dismay as he found himself dodging the wooden toy again and again. He kept reading down the list of possible nannies, how would he know which one was the right one for his home? He gazed around his office, one with low standards would be a good start. Anna finally clocked her father with the rattle. He was almost angry with her until she looked up at him with her big blue eyes and giggled. Booker sighed, she was just like her mother, and he never could stay angry at her either. He chuckled along with her as he rubbed his nose. "Nice one," he complemented.

Booker stood up with his daughter in his arms. He could search for a nanny tomorrow, for now, some fresh air with Anna sounded like a much better idea.

(A/N: So what do you think so far? I know Booker may seem a little OOC right now, and trust me all in good time everything will come together. The Moorely, the nanny, the debt, the actual game I did not forget about that, the peanut, the Patrick, so on and so forth it all has a purpose. So you all know the drill. Read, review, and remember: I love you!)


	2. Chapter 2

Ha, this is honestly a first for me. It usually takes a day and a half to get another chapter up. Sorry all I'm a terrible procrastinator and for some reason I take forever to write. So I will not keep you readers… Reading material… less? Without further ado I bring you chapter 2. MOVING ON…

Booker was not by any means a weak man. Especially not after the battle at Wounded Knee, he'd considered himself quite hardened by his experience. Which is why he hated when men and women stared questioningly when someone like Booker was pushing a stroller along with a babbling baby inside, and more so when he was looking content himself. They were used to the uptight drunkard who was either gambling his money away, or the Pinkerton who'd punch you in the mouth just as soon as he'd say hello. Now, he looked, approachable. He did not go out of his way to say hello to anyone, but the crease in his brow from scowling had disappeared. To many on the street, Booker DeWitt just looked like a normal man out for a walk with his child.

A couple of people he had passed double took at the father then would whisper to their companions. Booker wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back home, but Anna seemed to be enjoying herself so much that he couldn't bring himself to ruin it so quickly. He kept walking, trying to keep his eyes set straight forward, pretending not to notice the other people on the street. Anna did all of the talking on their walk, mostly picking up her head and cooing at passersby. Once in a while, Booker was complimented for the beautiful little girl conversing nonsense. Other times, the people on the street just walked faster earning a frown from Booker though Anna didn't seem to mind. She was too curious with everything else that was happening to care if those people had spontaneously combusted.

"Look Dorothy," said a small voice behind Booker. He wasn't really paying attention until he realized the conversation was about him. "Do you think that man is a nanny too?" Booker glanced over his shoulder to see a young woman who couldn't have been much younger than he was, with a little boy who was pointing at Booker. Booker looked from the boy to the woman with a raised eyebrow but said nothing.

"It's impolite to point Norman," scolded Dorothy. She smiled apologetically at Booker before kneeling down to the boy. "But I don't think so. I imagine he is simply taking his child for a walk."

"That's not a child that's a baby."

"Oh," chuckled Dorothy as she took little Norman's hand in her own. "My mistake. Then I imagine he is taking his _baby_ for a walk."

"I thought that was a job for nannies," Norman carried on, still staring at Booker. He tilted his head as they passed by the man and his daughter. "He doesn't look like a very nice dad either." Booker didn't know why, but that offended him more than if anything else had said it. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Booker didn't like what was said about him. Dorothy turned around as well and furrowed her eyebrows.

"Norman do not be rude!" Her hands flew to her hips and she tapped her foot. "Go over to that man and apologize for what you said!"

Booker didn't like the sound of that. He didn't really want to be bothered with anyone, truth be told. He just wanted to step out of his apartment, away from the smell of stale alcohol and nicotine, with his daughter. Now, there was a little boy, stomping angrily in his direction, muttering a string of words he could only imagine that they were about him. He stopped in front of Booker and looked at the ground.

"Sorry," he mumbled and kicked the pavement.

Booker almost wanted to laugh at the boy, a wave of nostalgia came flooding back as that same boy mumbling apologies that he didn't mean, but was forced to say. "No offense taken," he replied. Anna, however, immediately did not like the boy. Her blue eyes widen and she began angrily babbling at him.

"DEH DEH DEH DEH DEH," her little finger pointed at him. "DEH DEH DEH DEH!"

"Hey it's not polite to point," scolded Norman as Anna continued. "I say, it's not very polite to point baby!" But Anna was unrelenting. She kept pointing and spewing off her gibberish while Norman tried to explain to her that she was being impolite. The sight was comical a baby and a little boy arguing, and if she was anything like her father, Anna would not stop arguing ever.

"Norman that's quite enough," Dorothy rushed over. Booker took the time to study her. She was a pretty woman, with bright grey eyes and yellow hair pulled into a neat bun though little wisps were trying to escape. She couldn't have been much younger than he was, maybe seventeen or eighteen. She was a bit on the tall side for a woman, standing straight, Booker would have guessed she would have come up to his nose and he was no short man himself. "I'm sorry sir. You know how little boys are."

"I do," nodded Booker. "I was just telling the kid here that no offense was taken."

"At least not by you," she indicated the still shouting baby who was waving her hands violently and shaking her head. "The little one there does not seem to like anyone insulting their father."

Booker snorted. "Yeah she's something else." Anna finally stopped and turned around, hearing the subject was about her this time. Norman folded his arms and harrumphed at the baby who was now set on ignoring him. Her fist found its way to her mouth as she gnawed away, now listening to whatever the grownups had to say.

"Anyways I should get this youngster back home," Dorothy took Norman's hand once more. "Again I apologize for his comment earlier. Even if it doesn't offend you, he needs learn how to be a gentleman and not say such things. Well it was nice meeting you Mr…"

"Booker DeWitt," he extended his hand. "This here is Anna." As if on cue, Anna beamed up at the woman. Dorothy felt her heart melt a little as she took his hand in hers in a friendly shake.

"Dorothy Small," she introduced. "This is Norman Hanson, my ward." Norman took Booker's hand, squeezing as hard as he could. Booker refrained from squeezing back for fear of crushing his smaller hands, though some small part of him wanted to. "Norman! That's it! We're going home!" Dorothy snatched the boy by the ear and stalked off. "Good day Mr. DeWitt."

"I'll see you around Ms. Small," he held back from laughing at the sight. Norman was being dragged away complaining about Dorothy pulling on his ear. Dorothy was scolding Norman the whole way until they were out of sight. Anna glanced back at her father, who shrugged. She leaned forward, as if trying to see the woman again. "She'd be a good nanny for you. Too bad she's already taken." If Booker didn't know any better, he would have thought Anna was nodding to what he said. "Come on, let's get back home, I think we've been out long enough."

(A/N: Okay so this was just an intro to the new characters. Don't worry I'm not going to be like, he took one look at her and now he's in love… YAY. I'll try to do Booker as much justice as I possibly can. So, other than that you all know what to do, and if you don't that probably means you skipped a chapter. Read, review, and remember: I love you)


	3. Chapter 3

Hello all you who have managed to trek through this story thus far. Really pat yourselves on the back because I would have been bored with it by now. But then that's my six year old attention span, so –shrug- I don't know. Any how I'm not going to bore you to death any longer than I need to. So without further ado I bring you the next chapter. MOVING ON…

They had gotten home later than Booker wanted to, but he was relieved that as soon as he fed Anna, she went back to sleep while he worked on his case a little. There was not much to look into about Thomas Higgins, he was a factory worker who rally men who were done pleading for a union. Once they realized asking nicely wasn't going to work, they had taken to violent measures, destroying equipment, attempts at assault, nothing unusual, just that this man did this more frequently than most and wasn't ashamed to show his face about it.

This was what Booker didn't like about his job. In his opinion, Higgins was in the right they needed to be treated less like animals and more like people. It's what started all that trouble with Daisy Fitzroy and Fink. They were treated like second class people with no rights, they were expected to give their labor. Although, Booker was quite relieved to see that wasn't going to happen now that Comstock… Erm… He was no longer an issue. Booker dismissed his thoughts about Higgins being right about what he thought though, he wasn't being paid for his opinion.

He turned off the lamps in his office, wishing he'd had an actual home to go to, not cooped up in this small space. As he readied his self for bed, he was startled by a sudden knock at his door. A sinking feeling in his stomach set, wondering if things were about to repeat themselves. What if it was Robert Lutece asking him to hand over Anna?

_I tell him to go to Hell,_ he thought. _They are not getting my little girl again!_

'Again,' Booker sighed. Just the thought that he'd done it in a dream once was more than enough.

The knocking continued with urgency, Booker prepared all the 'nice' ways to tell Robert and Comstock to leave as he strode to the door. Much to his surprise – and delight – it was not Robert Lutece waiting on the other side of the door. It was the woman he'd met earlier, Dorothy Smalls, in much worse condition than he'd seen her a few hours ago. Her left eye was darkened and swollen and her lip was split open, still slightly bleeding. Her once neat appearance looked distraught like she'd just walked out of a bar brawl Booker often found himself in.

"Mr. DeWitt," Dorothy finally spoke though he didn't miss the pained expression on her face as she did. Booker stepped out of the way and allowed her entrance to the office. If she didn't approve of it, she didn't say anything about it. She stepped inside but didn't go much further until Booker offered her a chair to sit in at his desk.

"What happened to you," he walked about his office grabbing a rag and a bottle of whiskey. She gratefully accepted both, dabbing her lip and hissing every so often.

"We didn't quite make it home as quickly as I wanted to," she began. Dorothy began wringing her shaking hands as she continued. "Norman's father, Mr. Hanson, owns one of the steel mills. He's a good man to his home staff, but apparently that's as far as his courtesy goes. We were cut off of the path home by a few angered workers, all following the example of Mr. Higgins, Mr. Hanson's biggest trouble. They took Norman as a way to force negotiations, sending me to Mr. Hanson. My brother-in-law Samuel, he said he worked with you Mr. DeWitt, sent me to you saying that you needed this information and that you've been assigned to chasing down Higgins."

When she finished her story, she bit the inside of her lip, there was something else that wasn't being said, but she wasn't going to tell him. Perhaps it was because she did not know Booker, but he had a feeling it had something to do with the tears in her dress. "Was Thomas Higgins there at the time of the attack?"

"Yes I think so," she nodded. "There was one man they all deferred to." Booker reached into the file he'd been given and pulled out a picture of Higgins from his military days. She inspected the picture for only a second before she gave it back with a gasp. "Yes Mr. DeWitt that's him."

"Where did this happen," Booker was writing all information down. He tried to be sympathetic, but in truth he only wanted to finish the case as soon as possible. He didn't want to leave Anna alone for too long, he felt like he had so much to make up to her after Columbia – whether that was a dream or not.

"Main Street," she recalled. "When Sam told me to seek you out immediately, I wasted no time. I wanted to get this information to you while my memory was still fresh. Mr. DeWitt, Sam has told me all about your reputation. It is none of my business, all I want is for Norman to be brought home swiftly and safely. I'm sure even Mr. Hanson would be willing to compensate you for your service to his family. I'll do whatever I can to help, but please, the quicker Norman gets home, the better I'll feel."

"Sam," Booker drew out the name. "You're related to Moorely? Pfft he would bring my reputation up at a time like this. At any rate, I can't just go running out tonight down Main Street and hope to catch someone. I can get started first thing in the morning, otherwise there is nothing else I can tell you."

"I- Okay Mr. DeWitt," She stood to leave, a little woozy on her feet until Booker helped to steady her. "Thank you for seeing me in so late."

"Don't mention it," he escorted her to the door. "Will you be alright to make it home alone?"

"You can't very well leave the little one here by herself," waved off Dorothy. "I'll be fine Mr. DeWitt, thank you for the concern."

Booker wanted to say 'as fine as you are now,' but that would have been unnecessary. Instead he gave her a nod before checking the halls in case she was followed. He shut the door behind her, almost hearing Elizabeth yell at him for letting her go alone. He couldn't believe he was thinking it, but he almost missed Elizabeth's constant nagging, questions, and comments. He missed being an actual hero to his daughter, not just a provider, but someone she looked to with awe.

"_Booker," her voice rang in his head. "That was AMAZING!" Her large blue eyes wide in admiration as he took down the airships attacking the rebels single-handedly. Booker had to admit he was a little amazed too that he did it without being blasted into bits. Especially when he realized there was a Motorized Patriot waiting for him. _

Now he was a Pinkerton doing just the opposite of what his daughter once thought so highly of him. Now he was just like one of Fink's men doing all the dirty work for the people that lived high on the hog while others struggled just to eat. Perhaps once his job was over – considering he didn't get fired anyways – he'd try to find different work. One that didn't ask him to go against his morals.

He stood in front of his door debating whether or not he should have gone after Dorothy just to be safe. For Elizabeth's sake he wanted to. But for Anna's he didn't want to leave her alone. He made his final decision and turned away from the door. If Dorothy said she'd be fine, then she would be fine. He stripped down until he was in nothing but his undershirt and pants before he threw himself down on his lumpy bed, too tired to care that it felt like he was sleeping on cobblestone and his back would probably be sore in the morning.

And was it ever sore if the morning.

Booker woke to the sound of a baby crying. He cursed as he dragged his self over to Anna's door, stopping suddenly when he heard voices from the other side.

"You say he slept right through your entrance?"

"You saw him, he was dead asleep when we got here."

"Yes but it's the dead part that makes me wonder."

"Just shut up and grab the kid, I don't know how much longer DeWitt will be-"

Booker threw the door open, two men had entered his home while he was asleep, one had Anna in his arms, the other stood with a pistol aimed at the door. Anna's crying continued, these men were very obviously not her father and she didn't like them at all. She frowned and reached for Booker as soon as she saw him. Rage coursed through Booker's body, he wanted to rip the two men to shreds. The one with the pistol looked uncertain, like he didn't know whether to shoot Booker, or to stand there stupidly. The one holding the baby, seemed more confident, he knew he held the ace in his arms. All he had to do was drop Anna and it was all over for Booker.

Or so he thought.

Booker lunged for the man with the pistol, taking out the first obstacle. He snatched the hand holding the weapon before bringing up the opposite hand and landing blow after blow in the man's face until his grip weakened and he let go. With a pistol-whipping to the head, man number one was down. That just left the one holding Anna. That was going to be a considerable challenge.

"Let her go," warned Booker. "Or I'll-"

"You'll what Mr. DeWitt? Anything happens to me and this baby dies as well," he threatened. "Mr. Higgins will give you your daughter back when that bastard Hanson strikes a deal with us. In the meantime we can't have any Pinks standing in our way." He moved slowly towards the door, taking care to keep Anna out ahead of him incase Booker got any funny ideas. As he got to the door, he turned his back to the open office space, he did not notice a figure standing behind him with a large empty whiskey bottle in hand that was smashed over his head. Shards of glass fell everywhere, including on Anna as a sharp shard sliced her plump cheek. She stopped for a second, allowing her lungs to fill with air before letting out the saddest sounding cry Booker had ever heard.

"De de de de," she reached out her tiny hands for her father again. Booker took his chance while the intruder was dazed he snatched his daughter back throwing the man to the ground. He kicked the man in the nose, temporarily knocking him out.

When Booker got a good look at his daughter's savior, he was shocked to see it was none other than Ms. Small with a broken bottle neck. She looked sheepishly at Booker, but the expression changed quickly to horror when she realized that she had hurt Anna. "Mr. DeWitt I'm so sorry I didn't mean-."

"Take Anna and leave," growled Booker as he checked the ammunition in the weapon. It was full, just what he was hoping. "Wait for me outside."

"Mr. DeWitt-."

"DO IT," he barked. She looked unsettled about the gun in his hand but complied none the less. She had barely made it out of the room when she had to stifle a scream of her own at the sound of yelling and a gun going off repeatedly.

Anna still cried but they made it outside without incident. Dorothy was bouncing Anna, apologizing to the baby like she could understand. But Dorothy did feel bad that the scratch on her cheek was her fault. She hoped it didn't scar, though she supposed if it did, it'd only make her look more like her father with all the scars he had on his face. "There, there it's alright," she patted the baby's back until Anna rested her head on her shoulder, still sniffling but at least she wasn't crying like before. They waited only another second before she was met with Booker, to her horror. He was covered in blood, she was certain was not his own, but the look in his green eyes was nearly as terrifying as the blood itself. They were staring ahead intensely, like he was not yet satisfied with the two lives he claimed today. So early in the morning. "M-Mr. DeWitt?"

"Call me Booker," he said as he took Anna from her. The intense look never left his eyes, but he seemed to calm himself quite a bit. Or maybe Dorothy was imagining that because he hadn't killed her yet. Though the way he stared forward, not making eye contact with anyone but at the same time taking in his surroundings so intently he probably could have heard a pin drop even on the bustling street, Dorothy wasn't so sure it didn't mean he wouldn't.

"Booker," she repeated. "I'm so sorry about Anna and those men. Good Lord if something happened to her I don't think I could ever forgive myself."

Though her words were sincere, it was hearing that she was the cause of putting his daughter's life in jeopardy that seemed to anger him more. His green eyes darkened for a moment, before his wriggling daughter snapped him out of it. Dorothy should have considered herself lucky that the baby was there, if Anna hadn't been, Booker didn't know if he would have been able to control his temper. But seeing as he didn't want to trouble Anna anymore, he simply grunted but did not respond.

He began walking, though he wasn't quite sure where he was going. Where was the last place Dorothy said Higgins would be? Booker had a sudden desire to rip someone to shreds and since Dorothy was a lady, and he would never hurt his daughter, he had to settle on the next best thing. To hell if he was fired for it, he'd gladly sign the papers of his termination with a smile.

"Please Booker," Dorothy followed him. "If there's anything I can do to make up for that, please let me try! I don't want to be your enemy." Booker stopped for a second, the scratch was caused from her attempt to help. Those men knew where he lived because she wanted to help. Her employer's son was kidnapped because she was looking over him. As far as Booker was concerned, if anyone could cause more trouble while helping, it was Dorothy. He looked over at her, she did seem like she was really Hell-bent on doing something and he only needed her to care for Anna maybe for a day or two.

"Alright," he said with a sigh. "I want you to take Anna. Go somewhere, don't tell me where, just go for the next few days. In two days I want you to meet me here in front of the building. If I'm not back by then-." _I'm more than likely dead,_ he thought. "Make sure Anna is taken care of."

Dorothy considered the words for a moment. He couldn't have been seriously thinking of charging off into battle against the man who had rallied up so many men, to single handedly dispose of Higgins. What about Anna, he said to make sure she was taken care of, but how was she supposed to do that? She opened her mouth to argue, but Booker held up his hand. "That's all you can do Ms. Small. I'm going to get that son of a bitch Higgins for what he did."

"Booker…" She didn't like the idea. But when Booker turned around to face her, she gasped. There was no arguing with him, he was dead set on catching the man, and he would do it if it killed him. He waited for whatever it was she had to say. "Just Dorothy would be fine if you please." She took Anna, who still was not happy at all with anything that had happened that day.

Booker nodded, he leaned over and placed an uncharacteristic kiss on the baby's cheek before he set off in the direction of Main Street. "And Dorothy."

Dorothy's attention snapped up. "Yes?"

"Make sure you're not followed." He said sternly.

Dorothy nodded shamefully, "Yes Mr. DeWitt."

(A/N: Okay kinda struggled on that ending there. So what do you think so far? Good? Bad? Terrible? Should I not quit my day job? Well I'm not going to any ways I'm not actually making any money off this. So anywho you all know the drill. Read, Review, and Remember: I love you.)


	4. Chapter 4

Howdy do readers! I am so glad to get the lovin' from you guys. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. It's either that or mold… Might be the mold. Anywho, I'm not going to keep you for long because I'm sure my ravings are just sooo interesting –tumbleweed- … Yikes. So without further ado I give you the fourth chapter of the story. MOVING ON…

It was just past noon that Booker arrived on Main Street. He looked for any signs of Higgins or his men, and so far he got as far as he thought he would - which was a whole lot of nothing. But that did not stop the Pinkerton from pressing on. Booker was going to find Thomas Higgins and he was going to tear him apart limb by limb. He stopped for lunch, having not eaten since yesterday morning. As he sat by himself, he listened to the conversations around him, hoping that he'd overhear something about his intended target. For most of his lunch he'd heard nothing, just complaints about the factories, but nothing of note. More hours and less pay seemed to be the common theme coming from everyone's mouth.

"George and Noah still haven't come back today," said a man sitting behind Booker. "They were supposed to get that girl from that Pink and bring her to Tom. Even he's beginning to think they were caught."

"I don't know," said his companion. "I've heard about this DeWitt character. A nasty fellow, he had quite a reputation at Wounded Knee."

"Yeah some of the workers were telling me about how he works," said the first. Booker looked back, silently praying he wouldn't be noticed. They were sitting across from each other, a man in his forties and another in his late twenties. The younger man, the one he suspected to be the first speaker, leaned heavily over the table to not be over heard while the second guy sat back in his chair, he felt safe in his surroundings as most of the clientele were workers like themselves who barely had enough for this lunch if it hadn't been for Higgins charity. The older man sighed heavily, "well with any luck we'll hear from them later. Maybe they're on their way to Tom now."

The second man looked doubtful and shook his head. "I don't know Bill," he replied sadly. "I have a bad feeling we won't be seeing them anytime soon."

Booker felt an immense sense of relief that he'd finally gotten a start. Two men who knew about Tom and the deal to get Anna, it wasn't much, but he could work with that. All Booker had to do was wait, and something told him, he'd get so much more.

* * *

Dorothy hadn't the slightest clue what she was going to do with Anna. She couldn't very well go back to her employer's house with her when someone could be waiting for them there. She couldn't go back to her own home since it didn't exist. She supposed she could have gone to her mother's house, but she didn't want to talk about marriage again plus with the addition of a stranger's child. That could get very out of hand, very quickly. She kept walking down crowded streets, avoiding anywhere there weren't at least a dozen people in view. Perhaps she could rent a room for the next two nights, but she didn't know if she had the funding for that.

"Doesn't hurt to try I suppose," she mumbled.

None of the rooms would allow her to bring a baby with her without paying double. Dorothy sighed defeated. She had no idea what she was going to do. She knew she had to protect Anna at all cost before she ended up like the two men in Booker's office. Dorothy knew that was very possible and that he'd considered it after she'd hurt the baby, and it frightened her. "So do you think my mother would believe me if I told her I was just doing a favor for someone who works with Maria's husband?"

Anna looked up quizzing at Dorothy. She had been silent most of the day, all cried out and the pain subsiding. She'd get fussy once in a while, but Dorothy wondered if it had more to do with the baby missing her father. With a sudden frown and a squeak, Dorothy nodded. "Yeah me either."

The walk to her mother's house was a short one and she was relieved to see that she was home. With a deep breath, she knocked on the door, and was greeted by her mother, Lily Small. Her eyes widened in shock at the sight of Dorothy with a baby girl in one arm and her face bruised and battered. "Dorothy!" She cried as she pulled her daughter inside. "Do come in! What happened? Your face? Who is this child?"

Dorothy knew better to interrupt her mother's string of questions otherwise she'd just ask them all again. Finally her mother paused and Dorothy began to answer. She told her the story of Norman's kidnap, the workers who had broken into Booker's office and tried to take Anna as well, she finished with the story of Thomas Higgins and how his story connected Booker and Dorothy. What she did not mention was the disappearance of the two men, the gun shots, or the blood all over Booker. Her mother took in what she needed to know. "Darling I'm so glad you're alright, but are you so sure it's safe to be walking around with someone's baby? Especially when a bunch of ruffians like Higgins are willing to get violent just to make a point?"

"Well," Dorothy looked sheepishly at Lily. "That is why I'm here. I can't go anywhere those men might know about me and Anna, and I told Mr. DeWitt that I'd watch over her while he made sure that this Higgins was no longer a threat. I was hoping we could stay here for a few nights?" Her mother's face hardened for a second before Dorothy took her hands into her own. "Please mother, I have nowhere else to go! It'll only be for two days and then Anna goes back to her father."

Lily still looked uncertain, she watched Anna crawl around and explore the large room was she placed in. The longer she explored, the bigger the tugging her heart strings. She was certainly a beautiful baby, the way her blue eyes shined as she held up various knick-knacks and cooed at them just before trying to bite them. It reminded Lily of her daughters, each one of them as curious as the little girl now. "Oh Dorothy, but what if they come here?"

"All the more reason she needs us," pushed Dorothy. "Can you really stand to see someone just harm an innocent child like Anna simply so they can get at Mr. Hanson?"

"Mr. Hanson," scoffed Lily. "Why ever did you take the job from that man in the first place? He's nothing more than a pushy, no good, thief! That mill was your father's long before he swiped it out from under us!"

"I know mother, but I-."

"Never mind it," waved of Lily as she tapped her foot impatiently until a pressure stopped it. When she glanced down to see what it was, she saw Anna looking up at her. Her big blue eyes capturing her own, as Anna silently asked if she could stay, she knew she didn't stand a chance to say no. "Alright, a few days shouldn't be so bad. It'll be nice to have a little one around the house. Heaven only knows neither of my daughters is going to give me any grandchildren any time soon."

Dorothy had a bad feeling this conversation was just waiting to happen and her mother was just itching for an opportunity to bring it up. Trying to dodge being the subject, Dorothy replied, "Isn't Maria planning on having children with Sam?"

"If she ever sees him," Lily sighed dramatically. "He's always working and Maria barely sees him at all." Dorothy didn't know the men in Pinkerton were worked so hard. She wondered briefly about Booker and Anna, and wondered how he was balancing raising a child while being run ragged with work all the time. Though, when she thought about all the empty bottles of whiskey and beer in his office, she had a faint suspicion that he wasn't handling the stress well. "Where is the girl's mother? You've referenced her father a few times, but her mother-?"

"She died a few months back," answered Dorothy. Something passed over Anna's eyes that moment, like she knew who they were talking about and she looked almost sad. "Sam told me that Mr. DeWitt didn't handle her death all that well, but he's been raising the baby on his own."

"Poor man," Lily said as she bounced Anna whose demeanor still seemed different from her usual babbling self. "It's a wonder he doesn't try to find another nice girl to help him care for her."

"Well her death was pretty recent," replied Dorothy. "Perhaps his heart is not yet ready to move on."

"I know that, but even someone to help around the house. Like a nanny or a young woman who works for a thieving, conniving, black-hearted, no-conscious, man such as Mr. Hanson!"

Dorothy bit the inside of her lip, should've seen that one coming. In all honesty, she was surprised her mother was just now waiting to ask about Booker. Dorothy sighed; it was going to be a long two days.

* * *

Booker wiped the blood from his lip as he stumbled away from the alley he had dragged the two conversing men to. A fight of two men against one, he could take easily. Three, would be difficult, and four would be pushing his limit, but six men did tend to win a fight much easier than Booker by himself. That was to say, he acquitted his self quite well, even got the information he needed from the first two men, it was when the rest jumped in that Booker knew he was in trouble.

He repeated the address in his head again and again as he stalked down the streets of New York. '210 New Avenue,' not a far distance, but certainly a considerable one on foot. But the more he walked the more he reminded himself of Columbia, and how far he had to walk then though Booker did slightly miss the skyhooks as they were a much more convenient method of travel instead of storming through New York like a madman. If those men were trustworthy, he'd find Higgins, and more importantly he'd destroy him.

For a while he almost regretted what he was going to have to do to Higgins. He respected the man for his want to fight for his people, but he made the fatal error of threatening Anna and therefore there was no way he was going to let that slide. Anything else, Booker may have just let the poor bastard go. He had heard the name Hanson before, he knew about the steel mills and how the people were treated there, and as far as Booker was concerned, this was what Hanson deserved.

Booker picked up the speed when he turned down New Avenue, wondering if maybe he should have killed those men on the off chance they would warn Higgins of Booker's arrival. He counted the buildings, looking for his number, ignoring the people on the streets. With any luck, Booker would have just found the house, shot Higgins, and would be home within a day. But if Booker was basing anything on his own luck, he could be assured that everything was about to go horribly wrong.

And it did

Booker heard the shot before he even felt the pain rip through his left arm. For a moment he wondered how the hell anyone would know what he was there for. But when he turned around he noticed the men from the dinner, the ones he had beaten to a pulp for the information. They stepped out of the carriage and apparently shot Booker while he was looking the other way. While the pain was great, Booker silently thanked them for having terrible aim. If they had been good with a weapon, Booker would have left this job unfinished, and that would not do.

This did leave the problem of being distracted long enough to finish these men off once and for all. He charged in full force, still branding the pistol from his office that the two dead men carried while they tried to take Anna. He also brought a back-up, which was his own pistol just in case. Two shot were all he needed, one for the tall young man, whose head snapped back the instant the bullet pierced between his eyes. The other hit the second, older man, in the neck. He gurgled before dropping to his knees, hands flying to his throat in a vain attempt to stop the blood. Booker approached the dying man, lifting him by the collar of his shirt with his good arm.

"This is your last chance to tell me the truth," warned Booker. "Tell me and I'll make it quick. Stay quiet and you can drown in your own blood for all I care." The man spit blood in Booker's face. Booker sighed, he had a feeling it would come to this. "Fine by me." He dropped the man, none too kindly, before continuing his search. His arm throbbed painfully, try as he might to ignore it, he gritted his teeth as he continued down the street. The wound wouldn't kill him, even with as painful as it was he could have sworn he'd had far worse done to him, and so he didn't let it take him from his mission. He needed to find Higgins! It was the only way he'd be able to protect Anna.

People on the street were still screaming and running at the commotion. Booker hadn't noticed any of them until now when a group of young men were trying to lead him to a doctor. Booker struggled to get away, he had to find Higgins before it was too late, before he skipped town and Booker lost his chance. "Goddammit it," he growled as he kept fighting the crowd. "Leave me alone!"

"Sir you're hurt," said a female voice this time. It sounded vaguely familiar, but not enough that Booker could actually recall who it was. Just that he'd heard it not too long ago. She was a short woman, with short blonde hair tied neatly on her head her eyes were deep amber. She certainly was pretty, and more so familiar. "You need to see a doctor!"

"I'm fine," he barked. "Now leave me be, I'm busy."

"It's no use Booker," Booker cringed at the second voice. No wonder she was familiar, Dorothy said Moorely was her brother-in-law. Booker scowled at Moorely, who did not look at all impressed with Booker's actions. "Higgins knew you'd be coming. He left town even before his boys came after your kid."

"How?"

"Your reputation is well known," said Moorely grimly. "If someone told me to kidnap the 'White Injun's' child, I would leave too. Especially someone who's see you in combat at Wounded Knee." Booker's hand curled into a fist, he very much wanted to hit something. "With that being said, Norman Hanson is still missing with Higgins. I don't know how far he's willing to go to cut a deal with his father, but I don't think Higgins is going to release Norman until something is settled. Booker, you and I both know that after this display, you're as good as fired from Pinkerton."

"Then it's not my problem anymore."

"What if it were your own kid?"

To Booker that was a trick question, because no one, except maybe Songbird (which Booker would be lucky if he never saw that thing again for as long as he lived) would take Anna from him. And even if Songbird was suddenly created, Booker shuddered at the thought; he wouldn't be wasting time seeking help. He'd rush in, guns blazing until everyone who was involved in her kidnap was dead. "It's not my kid, and it's not my problem." He answered coldly.

Moorely shook his head. "You're a real piece of work aren't you DeWitt," Moorely accused. Booker didn't say anything, finally able to shake off the last of the herd of men. "Always looking out for yourself, thinking you're too good for everyone else. But look at you, you left the army, you were fired from Pinkerton, and if those betting slips are any indication you're up to your ass in debt, all of this while pretending to be some good father!"

"And what," Booker raised his voice. "One good deed and all of a sudden my sins just vanish? You think anything I do will change a damn thing?"

"Hanson would pay handsomely for the boys return," said Maria from the side thoughtfully. "Perhaps that would change something. You could pay your debts, you could spend it all on drinking, or you could care for your daughter but everyone wins if you just say yes."

Booker bit back a long defeated sigh, she had a very good point everyone would win. But that didn't mean that he wanted to go around New York (considering Higgins was even still **in **New York). Moorely knew just by looking at him, that Booker was going to change him mind, and smiled smugly. "Fine," Booker threw up his hands in defeat. "But I expect to be paid for this. I'm not going on some wild goose chase for some kid who may or may not still be alive."

"You were going after Higgins anyway."

"For my own reasons," countered Booker. "None of them involves the Hanson's in any way. Now I have to go about this carefully or they'll kill him. And I'm not going to spend all that time away from Anna for nothing."

"Anna," repeated Moorely. After digging around on Booker and his family, he saw that Annabelle DeWitt, late wife of Booker DeWitt, had died in childbirth. Such a thing was common, but Moorely didn't think Booker would have named the child after his dead wife. He would have expected a name that would take his mind away of the woman he lost because of that baby.

Booker seemed to catch the thoughtful look on Sam's face, which he fought the urge to hit. He knew Sam was looking for some kind of dirt on Booker so he would lose his job, it wouldn't surprise him if he'd found out about Annabelle and how she'd died. But it angered Booker that he was being watched so close so that Sam could finally have his day that Booker DeWitt finally got his. "Yeah, Anna."

"I see," the shorter man put an arm around his wife. "Well then we'll have something arranged for your daughter. Darling perhaps Dorothy wouldn't mind watching the child while Booker does the job for her employer?"

"I'm almost sure she would," nodded Maria. "But that can wait. For now Mr. DeWitt, you should see a doctor about that arm before it gets infected."

Booker finally let out the long sigh he was holding in since the conversation began. This was going to be a long week.

(A/N: Good lord that was getting long winded. Huzzah chapter 4 is finished. Aren't we all happy about that? –Tumbleweed- What the- Will someone get that tumbleweed guy out of here? Anywho, you all know the deal and what nots. Read, review, and remember: I love you!)


	5. Chapter 5

Okay so finally the plot thickens kinda. Just so you know in all honesty if you are all like 'wtf there is no character build-up with Higgins.' I have a very simple explanation. I don't want a character build-up for Higgins. He's really more of a plot device, and I don't want to span all of Anna's years just looking for him, nor do I want to throw my relationships together in a series of a few months. These things take time. Also if anyone out there is a deviantart user and draws various Bioshock images, I would really appreciate a cover for my story but I can't draw a stick figure correctly so if anyone wants to, I'd really like to see it/use it. So there! So any ways, let us continue on the adventures of Booker DeWitt, and his trusty sidekick… No one! MOVING ON…

* * *

Dorothy hated staying at her mother's house for two reasons. One was the pushy mother who was constantly nagging at her for working when it was a man's job to work while a woman kept the house. The other reason was, like magic, her older sister Maria Moorely (now that she was married) would visit her mother whenever Dorothy was over, and join her mother in nagging.

Today was like any other in that aspect.

She was pacing the house, feeding the fussy Anna DeWitt when Dorothy had heard her mother's cry of surprise and joy. "Maria! What a pleasant surprise! Come in darling. And Sam how nice it is to see you both!" Dorothy groaned quietly in the next room to avoid being heard. Anna suckled happily on the bottle to care what was going on around her as her eyes drooped slowly. Dorothy could have jumped for joy that Anna was beginning to finally give in to the alluring call of sleep. _That's it,_ inwardly cheered Dorothy. _Just a little more and they'll be closed all the way. It's time for sleep because we've had a very long day today. I'm tired, you're tired, let's not fight this anymore._ Anna had just barely closed her eyes and Dorothy breathed a sigh of relief.

Until Maria decided to stick her head in.

"My God," cried Maria. Anna's eyes shot open at the sudden noises, making Dorothy groan again. "What happened to your face?!"

Dorothy tried to shush her, but the damage was done, Anna was awake and she didn't like it one bit. She balled her tiny hands into fists and cried loudly. How did Booker deal with this by himself? Maria rushed to her sister, trying to get a better look at her younger sister's battered face. "Oh Dorothy who did this to you? Was it that scoundrel Higgins?"

"I am surprised Sam did not mention it to you last night," Dorothy bounced Anna in some vain attempt to get her to sleep again. "He did tell you he ran into me last night?"

"He did," Maria still inspected Dorothy's face trying not to bump into the baby Dorothy was holding.

"Perhaps he didn't want you to worry," shrugged Dorothy. "It looks worse than it actually is," she lied. Truthfully she was sore all over, and her eye felt like it was making some attempt to escape the socket. Those men had done a number on her, but she didn't want her sister to worry either. God only knew if Maria worried, she would never give Dorothy a moment's rest.

However, her lie seemed to have appeased her sister as Maria took a step back. "Who is this little one?" Anna's wailing had quieted from being too busy observing the newest woman in the room. Her large eyes looked Maria up and down, like she was trying to judge what she thought about the woman hovering around. Dorothy noticed this but didn't say anything, from the day she had first seen Anna, she knew the baby was nosey.

"This is Anna DeWitt," introduced Dorothy. "Her father-."

"DeWitt?" Repeated Maria. "Her father isn't Booker DeWitt is he? We just passed him today on the street."

This relieved Dorothy immensely. While she knew that should anything happen to Booker she could have easily dropped the girl off at an orphanage, it would have broken her heart to see the man that Anna adored so much was suddenly ripped from her life. The odds of her remembering her father, at such a young age, were slim but Dorothy would remember the way she immediately calmed down after her father took her in his arms and the way she scolded Norman for his halfhearted apology. Something told Dorothy that even though Anna was so young, she would remember Booker always.

"How is Mr. DeWitt," asked Dorothy curiously. "Is he any closer to finding that dreadful Higgins?"

Maria shook her head sadly, "No when I had last seen him, we escorted him to a doctor. The doctor said he'd be alright, but Higgins may have gotten away for all they know. Sam seems to think Mr. DeWitt is going to lose his job for this last incident."

"What incident?"

"Well he accosted some men for information on Mr. Higgins," explained Maria. "They had really sent him to an ambush. He was shot in the arm and he killed the men who had attacked him."

"Then he should be pardoned for defending himself," said Dorothy angrily. "Why would they fire him?"

"Mr. DeWitt has quite a violent streak. They'll think he did something to instigate this, especially because of his means of information, and he'll be fired," Maria looked a bit regretful to tell her the last part because Anna was in the room. Granted the baby couldn't understand, it was still bad form to talk negatively about someone's father right in front of them. "Mr. Hanson has agreed to pay Mr. DeWitt handsomely if he can track-down Norman and get rid of Thomas Higgins for good. And he's also agreed to pay your wages while you take care of the baby while Mr. DeWitt is away."

Dorothy looked confused, she would be watching Anna, when did she agree to this? She said she wanted to help Booker anyway she could, but this was not what she'd had in mind. She thought of that shabby office he lived in with Anna and sighed, she was expected to stay there. Where would she sleep? Certainly not in that small bed with him – though she did blush at the thought. She didn't want to argue about it though, it was work and she supposed she should have been grateful that Mr. Hanson was still willing to pay her though it was in her company that Norman was abducted. She glanced down at the baby, who had finally drifted to sleep in her arms, and sighed at least the company could have been so much worse.

* * *

Booker tossed and turned as he tried to lay in a comfortable enough position to finally sleep. His eyes kept drifting to the door where his daughter's crib sat empty. Booker kept repeating to himself that she was sent away to protect her, she was not in Columbia, there would be no Columbia, and that in a few days he'd have his daughter back safely. The words were comforting but just barely as some irrational paranoia grabbed a hold of his heart and squeezed ever now and then that she wouldn't be back.

His arm had settled into a dull throb, not painful, but certainly uncomfortable enough to keep him thinking about it. He should have been paying better attention to his surrounding or trusted his instincts when it came to killing those men. What did he save them by keeping them alive for a few short hours?

"_That is the last time I let someone get the jump on me."_ He had once said. Apparently not.

He looked at his right hand tracing the line that he had remembered being a deep gash from a knife. The familiar dull throb reminded him of his journey throughout Columbia as he fought Columbian and Vox alike in the attempt to save Elizabeth from Comstock or from his self. He sighed and rolled onto his good arm, he needed rest and he knew he needed it well before the doctor had told him so but he needed to protect Anna first. Anna was all that mattered, her safety was his first and only priority and if it killed him he'd do whatever it took to keep her safe.

Booker thought about the river, where he had let Anna drown him. The only way they could stop Comstock was by never giving him a chance to be born, but why was Booker still there? How did he get a second chance? Or was this opportunity one hundred twenty four? Booker groaned as he hid his face under the covers, even the whiskey he'd managed to chug down was not helping to quiet his mind. Now he just felt heavy in his head. He wondered if it was the effect of alcohol, or if it was from all of his thoughts. He forced his eyes shut, trying to make the thoughts go away until sleep finally claimed him.

* * *

(A/N: Hey guys this is a weird chapter. In all honesty it's mostly filler/forcing everything into place chapter. Does it feel too forced? I feel like it is, but it's not, but it is. Anyway let me know what YOU think and we'll see what we can do to fix that. So you all know the drill! Read, review, and remember: I love you!)


	6. Chapter 6

So I was laughing at one of my reviews, not in a condescending way but I really wished I had thought of that before about doing a Mrs. Doubtfire theme instead. That is awesome, but since I can't respond to the actual review since they didn't log on or don't have an account I just wanted to say that this will not be so. I don't know if you good sir or madam can see this (as you said you didn't read the story?) but I must frown and say I will not be doing that. So without further ado, I give you chapter 6 (this has to be the fastest I've ever moved through a fanfiction so go us)! MOVING ON…

* * *

Booker woke up to what felt like nails being hammered into his head by a handyman. He tried to turn over and go back to sleep, seeing as the chances of finding Higgins had been reduced quite drastically since last night. Now he was just waiting for the next day to speak with Dorothy about temporarily being Anna's nanny while he searched for Norman. He didn't really care for any of it, and Mr. Hanson sure as hell made it known that he didn't much care for the idea either but for his son he would have done whatever it took.

Booker smirked to his self when he thought about the way he had 'negotiated' a price with Phillip Hanson. Perhaps the strikers had the right idea kidnapping the kid as it certainly helped Booker in the end. One thousand dollars would be the payout if Norman was returned safely, five hundred otherwise, and as a bonus he would pay Ms. Small's salary while Booker 'borrowed' her.

Thinking of Dorothy made him frown. Not because he missed the woman, but because he was almost surprised that after a day he already missed Anna. The fact that she wasn't in her crib, or crawling around on the floor looking for something to get into, or babbling to him while he listened just made him miss her more. He checked the clock for the time, it was nearly noon. Booker sighed, he'd slept half the day away. When was the last time he was able to do that? He couldn't recall if he ever had in his whole life and especially not after Anna was born. After she was born he was waking up at odd hours of the night, usually still drunk and stumbling after her.

He rubbed the throbbing in his temples as he dressed for the day. The cool autumn air seeped into his apartment, soon would be winter, he would need a warmer blanket for Anna. Suddenly he realized that if he returned Norman safely, he could buy Anna a new blanket. He could give her whatever she needed blankets, clothing, food, toys if she wanted it Booker would gladly give it to her. All he had to do was return Norman safely to Phillip Hanson.

Booker threw open the door to leave his office, he tried to play it cool but he was startled by Moorely standing arm raised as though he were going to knock. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well good afternoon to you too," mocked Sam. "I see you're hard at work as usual."

"I'm busy so if there's nothing else you need," Booker gestured down the hall.

"I saw your daughter yesterday," Moorely walked with Booker as they departed. "Pretty little thing. She doesn't look a thing like you." When Booker stopped down the hall, Moorely shook his head. "She's with Dorothy at her mother's. Believe me if anyone can protect Anna it's her. I think she'd nag the strikers to death."

"Good," Booker began to walk once more. "I could use all the help I can get because without a lead to Higgins, I could be at this for a long time."

Moorely snorted, "Please you're like a bloodhound DeWitt. Once you get someone's scent, you'll hunt them into the very bowels of hell. I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard especially since you no longer have Pinkerton stopping you. Which, by the way, they wish to see you today for exactly that reason."

Booker sighed, he knew it was coming and he did say he would gladly accept his dismissal with a smile for Anna. But now he was stuck looking for another job which he didn't think many people would exactly feel comfortable working with an Ex-Pinkerton. "Shit." He mumbled.

"Look on the bright side DeWitt," Moorely clapped him on the back. "You never have to deal with me again."

"Is that why you're so cheerful?"

"Precisely."

* * *

When Dorothy was a child, the sound of thunder was enough to send her hiding under her covers until her mother or father came in her room to comfort her. When she grew older she learned how the thunder could not hurt her, and the lightning could not as long as she had shelter. She watched now in no fascination but depression as the storm raged on outside. She had hoped to stop at the market for some essentials Anna would need today, but it looked like walking in this dreaded weather was not going to happen. Instead, she was stuck inside trying to comfort the child who, much like herself, did not much care for the storm.

Dorothy sighed as Anna buried her head in the woman's neck as though she were trying to burrow into a hiding place. Dorothy just pat the baby's back and spoke softly as she continued to watch outside. She wondered if Booker was stuck out in the rain today trying to find Higgins. Dorothy heard that he was most likely going to be fired today for the actions of the night before but she also knew that Mr. Hanson was willing to pay a lot of money to see his son returned.

Dorothy had a feeling she was about to be unemployed as well for her inability to protect Norman from being kidnapped in the first place. She hoped he was okay, not for her job sake, but she did genuinely like the little boy. Even with his outbursts, he was a good kid just a little misled from his father. Dorothy wondered what they were doing to him, assuming he was even still alive. Were they hurting him, were they turning him against his father, or were they simply leaving him alone just holding onto him until his father paid his dues?

Anna whimpered against her neck, bringing Dorothy back to herself. "There there," she comforted. "It's alright, I'm sure it'll soon pass."

"I doubt it," a voice made her jump. She spun around to find Sam soaked from the rain standing in the doorway. "These clouds stretch on for miles and they're only getting darker." Dorothy frowned at the news, like it had saddened her, but she didn't say anything about it. Instead she greeted her brother-in-law before she continued with Anna. "I saw Mr. DeWitt again today. He seems to be in low spirits today."

"Must be the weather," suggested Dorothy.

"I think it has something to do with the bundle in your arms there," he indicated the baby who was still trying to avert her eyes to the outside. Dorothy didn't like the tone he used when he mentioned Anna, it was like he wanted something and was going to use Anna to get it. "I wanted to speak with you about her."

"Oh?" She tried to sound surprised but it was pretty hard to do. "Is something wrong?"

"Not with her," Sam shook his head. "But rather with her father. Booker is only good for one thing, being a father is not one of them."

"I don't think that's entirely true," Dorothy didn't like where this was going. Anna picked her head up and glanced back at Sam, obviously unhappy about what he was saying about her dad. Dorothy was a bit amazed by the baby's ability to pick up on words about her father. "I think Booker is a good father willing to do anything, no matter how dangerous, for Anna."

"I don't think he doesn't love her," Sam said heatedly. "What I am saying is that he is not the provider he should be. Always drinking, gambling, and killing is that anyway to raise a young lady? You have seen where they live, it is a mess and he does nothing to change it. She needs a stable home with a father that will give her everything."

"Sam what are you getting at," Dorothy had a faint suspicion she knew what it was. She just wanted to hear him say it.

"Maria and I have been speaking about it," he hung his head. Almost like he was ashamed to say the words. "She and I have been unable to produce a child, we've tried so hard for a year now and so far we have nothing. But if Anna suddenly went missing, if we were to just leave New York, somewhere Booker cannot find us. I think she would have a home-"

"DE DE DEDEDE DEDE DE!" Hollered Anna. She didn't like the idea one bit. "DE DE DE DE DE DE DE DE BAH BAH!"

Dorothy didn't know what she was saying, but she had a feeling they were thinking the same thing. "I'm sorry Sam but I cannot help you. I am not going to be responsible for another child missing."

"But this time it's for the better," argued Sam. "Norman's kidnapping is unfortunate. Her kidnapping would be unfortunate but we can all agree that this is for the best. She'd have a home, a loving mother, a nanny who could care for her, a father who could provide. Can Booker give her any of those things?"

"Beh beh beh," grumbled Anna. She still didn't like the sound of it. As the thunder rolled outside, she didn't shy away this time. Her eyes locked with Sam's in a dark glare, much like her father's did when he heard something he didn't like. Like this morning as he was being reprimanded and fired from his job as a Pinkerton.

'She really is his child,' he thought angrily. But she was still young, he could break her of that quick. He could wipe the memory of her useless father and replace it with his self. He could make her love him just like he made Maria love him.

"Just think about what I have said," offered Sam. "Now if you'll excuse me I have to get back, Maria still insists that we try to have one of our own." Dorothy said nothing. He should have considered his self lucky that she didn't run to Booker and tell him what Sam had said. But then the image of a crazed Booker crossed her mind and she shuddered. He could be quite a scary man when he wanted to, and it was rubbing off on Anna who once more did not flinch as the thunder clapped loudly outside.

* * *

(A/N: Whew this one was a little hard to get out. I'm already starting on chapter 7 and should have it up soon but let me know what you think on this one in the meantime. Read, review, and remember: I love you!)


	7. Chapter 7

Okay then chapter 7 not really going to say anything because nothing worth saying. MOVING ON…

Booker paced impatiently in front of his building. Today he was at his breaking point, waking to another quiet morning without Anna. He wanted desperately to see his daughter especially feeling unnerved by all the questions Moorely was asking about her. He considered punching the man in the face, all the more when he asked if maybe she would have been better with a more stable family. Of course Booker thought that, but that didn't mean he was going to admit that to Sam.

"_What I mean Booker," said Moorely trying his best to sound sympathizing though all Booker could hear was a condescending tone. "Is that one day she'd going to be too big for that office, you'll have to teach her how to be a proper, good lady. How would you do that? You're not a proper, good man yourself." _

_Booker spun around so he was chest to chest with Moorely. "That is the last time I'm going to let you insult me. So just say it one more time." Moorely said nothing._

Now he was trying to brush the thoughts aside, he was doing alright for a father. Anna never went hungry or cold even if he did, and she seemed to like him enough. He wasn't the greatest father, nor was he going to pretend he was but there were certainly much worse. Like fathers who sold their child to a complete stranger into a country in the sky.

That guy was a complete ass.

But that was another thought for another day. Now he was waiting, waiting and watching for Dorothy to show with his daughter. He probably should have emphasized a time as she could have arrived at any moment, day or night. He sincerely hoped it wasn't going to be night.

He checked his watch for the fifth time in the last hour, only five minutes had passed since the last time he had checked it. He finally leaned against the wall trying to convince his self not to go to Dorothy's mother's house and demand his daughter back.

'_Not a proper, good man yourself,'_ the insult rang in his head. What did that even mean?

He looked like a man, if a little more disheveled, but Booker was never one to care about his appearance. It was one of the things his wife loved about him. Most men put on a façade to try and impress the other women, but Booker was simple. He never looked like a slob, but he wasn't all that worried if his face had a little stubble on the sides or if his shirt was not tucked in.

He acted like a man, if a little more rough around the edges, but to Booker that was a way of survival. He never wanted people to imagine him as a soft man that was how trouble began. When they underestimate him, he was more than able to prove himself. Especially at Wounded Knee, the horrible things he had done still haunted him. Not because of the men they lost, but because of the things he had done not in defense but to prove a point to a bunch of men who were not worth the time. So many people, the old, the women, the sick, the children, none of it mattered to him who he killed, he just wanted carnage. Now he felt like he'd seen enough to last him the rest of his life.

But things were never that simple. He still felt the flares in his temper, especially when the cards started to go south. He would be fine one moment, and the next thing he knew he was dragging himself out of another bar wiping the blood from his face as he stumbled home through another drunken haze.

With a long defeated sigh, Booker hung his head shamed. Maybe he wasn't a good man at all. Maybe Moorely was right. He felt his depression start to settle in, until a familiar voice cast a light over that dark spot in his heart.

"Bah de de de de," a tiny voice caught Booker's attention immediately. His head snapped up and he glanced around. "Dah dah bah de."

"My goodness you're chatty this morning," said a female voice that Booker also knew. He felt his insides melt a little bit. There they were, Dorothy and Anna. Anna was babbling away, and Dorothy seemed to enjoy the baby's expressiveness. With a case in the other hand, and Anna in one, they were making their way to Booker. They were both smiling as they walked, Booker was surprised to feel his own lips pulling upwards as he saw little Anna taking in the sights again. "You just can't wait to get home can you?"

Booker refrained from running at the two like a mad man, instead settling on taking long strides to meet them halfway. Dorothy greeted Booker with a smile before handing the little girl over. Booker responded with a nod and focused instead on his daughter. Anna beamed with a toothless smile at her father, making Booker melt a little more inside. He planted a quick peck on her chubby cheek, which was healing nicely before hugging her close. He hadn't realized just how much he missed her until she was in his arms again. Anna set her head on his good shoulder, before cooing nonsense.

"She's been excited all morning," Dorothy spoke finally. "I think she missed you something terrible."

Booker didn't say a thing to her, just settled with closing his eyes and listening to Anna's babbling which had settled into a whisper. Dorothy inwardly cursed Sam for the horrible things he said about Booker being Anna's father and how he was not a good father to her. Dorothy wished that just for a second Sam could see Booker when he was holding onto Anna. How he softened, ever so slightly but noticeably enough, when she looked up at him with those large blue eyes.

Yes perhaps he had a problem with drinking, and gambling. But her own father was a heavy drinker, but he never struck his wife or children. He had gotten into his shares of brawls in his day but he never brought his rage home. She knew, though she didn't know him well, that Booker would be the same. His wife seemed to love him enough to bear a child for him, there had to be something he was doing right.

"She was running a fever last night briefly," she continued. Booker's eyes shot open, panic had already settled in as he opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong. "Easy Mr. DeWitt, she's teething. Her fevers are going to spike and then come down, it's perfectly natural. She'll be crying a lot, not feeling good, but it just means her first tooth is going to be coming soon."

Booker frowned, she was old enough to teeth already? Her first tooth was nearly here, which would mean her second tooth was next, then all of her teeth, and before he knew it she would be losing those teeth for her adult set, which would mean she was an adult. And Booker had seen her as an adult, as a beautiful young woman and he probably wouldn't be the only one who thought that, which would mean young men about Booker's current age would soon be at his door for his permission for her hand in marriage then running away bloodily as Booker made sure they never came back. Booker was not quite yet ready to think about that.

"If you feel right on the front of her gums, it's a little swollen," continued Dorothy. "She seems to be chewing a lot too. Hopefully it'll pass soon and that tooth will break through. Believe me, it's a long process."

"You seem to be an expert at these sorts of things," Booker said, trying not to think about boys coming to his house. Maybe when she was old enough he could convince her to be a nun.

"I raised Norman since he was a baby," explained Dorothy as Booker led them to his office/home. "His teething was terrible, it took so long for all his teeth to come in. The poor thing, his fever would spike, his temper was short, he'd cry and cry and I couldn't figure out why. Finally I visited my mother, I needed someone who knew about these sorts of things to help me or I think I would have lost my mind. She told me it varies from child to child but you can expect these things." She added sheepishly, "she was the one who knew Anna was teething last night."

Booker was suddenly very thankful that Dorothy would be staying with them for the time being. He was going to need help with this process. He certainly wouldn't know what to do with a teething child. Dorothy explained everything with such a calm demeanor, she seemed to know just what to do with Anna.

"Good to know," nodded Booker as he opened the door to his room. Though it wasn't much, Dorothy had seen men living in so much worse. Or not living anywhere at all. "It's not as fancy as Hanson's place but, it's home." He shrugged.

Dorothy didn't mind the mess, wondering if she could make the shabby place a home or if Booker would even let her. She tilted her head to the side, there was potential somewhere and she was determined to find it. The first thing she noticed would be the curtains, there was no salvaging them, but she knew she could make a newer set, a nicer set. The floors could use a mopping, a real good scrub down. The walls, they were going to be the better part of her effort. The wall paper was yellowed from smoking and in some areas she noticed tearing from years of neglect. She wondered if they were always that way but she said nothing. Finally she noticed all the dust, it was a wonder anyone could breathe in that office.

She set her case down heavily with a soft 'oof.' Booker glanced back at her and she smiled apologetic. "You can set your things wherever you like. You'll take my bed while you're here," Dorothy tried to protest but Booker stopped her. "I usually sleep at my desk anyway. You'll be a lot more comfortable in my bed than the floor until I can figure something else out." He supposed he could get another bed for Dorothy and keep it in Anna's room, though he had no idea how he was going to afford one. He let Anna crawl around on the floor for a while, before lifting her suitcase effortlessly and setting it closer to the bed.

Dorothy fought the urge to huff. Of course that was easy for him to lift, he didn't have to carry that thing up a flight of stairs plus heft it from her mother's house with a baby in her arm. Though his large frame suggested he was used to lifting heavy objects effortlessly, and not to mention his time in the army may have left Booker carrying objects far larger than just a suitcase packed with some essentials.

Like dying men, for instance, Dorothy shuddered at the thought.

"How long until you find something on Norman," she asked trying to shake her previous thought from her mind.

Booker shrugged before setting her case down next to the bed. "It could be days," he suggested. "Could be weeks, could be a whole damn year before I hear anything."

"A year?!" Dorothy cried. "He could be dead by then!"

"He could be dead right now," countered Booker hotly. "If I don't know where he is, then I can't do very much about it now can I?" Dorothy shook her head sadly. "Now the only thing I can do is go over anything that might lead me to him, and as soon as I find Norman I'll get him home. But that's it."

Dorothy said nothing, just stared at the floor where Anna played. She wondered briefly just how Booker would have felt if someone had taken Anna. If all this time of loving her and caring for her, she was suddenly gone. If every night he lay awake wondering if his child was alive or dead, or what he could have done to have prevented all of this.

Booker didn't say anything else about the subject. Instead he filtered through the few pieces of information he had on Higgins. Yesterday he had Philip Hanson retrieve one of his workers so Booker could 'ask' where Higgins was heading. He didn't say much, not knowing exactly where he was headed but he did disclose that he was still in New York, it was close enough that Philip would be able to find him as soon as he was willing to strike a deal. Wherever Higgins was, Norman was close by.

He said nothing about Norman's condition. That worried Booker.

Booker had broken the man's jaw before sending him back to work. A little assurance that this wasn't going to go back to Thomas before Booker could catch him. Hanson was angry at him for doing so, but Booker didn't care, the last time Booker had let a man live, he ended up with a bullet in his shoulder. He was not about to make that same mistake twice.

"Do you really think Norman is dead," Dorothy broke Booker's thoughts. He glanced up and saw the sadness in her eyes. Booker almost pitied her, she'd never seen just what a desperate man was willing to do to achieve their ends.

"I don't think so," he answered honestly. "If Thomas is a smart man, he'll keep Norman alive so he can have the upper hand. As soon as Norman dies, it's all over for him. I find him and he's done for. I'm not being hired to kill Higgins, just to find this kid and bring him back alive."

"How do you know you'll find him?"

"I don't."

"That's not very comforting."

"Do you want comfort or do you want the truth," Booker gave Dorothy a stern look. "They almost never go together." He poured himself a shot of whiskey and down it in a single gulp. Dorothy pretended not to notice, but stared at the ground in disapproval. If this was how he was going to spend the night, he would more than likely never find Norman.

"My father used to own the mill Mr. Hanson now owns," Dorothy said softly. "If not for Norman, I would support Mr. Higgins cause. I just don't want him to get hurt."

Booker let out a long breath. He didn't want to have this conversation with this woman he barely knew. But he did nod his own agreement. It was no secret the real reason Booker wanted to put down Higgins, but he did have to admit he believed in what the man stood for. The thought brought a sudden memory, a city in the sky, a building on fire, the cheering of the oppressed, and a bullet wound. A _fatal_ bullet wound.

Booker glanced down, feeling a very hot pain in his side, as though he'd been shot again. On his papers were red splotches far too small to have been caused from bleeding from his side. Dorothy was at his side almost immediately.

"Mr. DeWitt," she handed him a handkerchief while trying to observe his face. "Your nose is bleeding."

(A/N: So there you have it. You all know the drill. Read, review, and remember: I love you!)


	8. Chapter 8

Hello my readers. You guys are great. I feel like this story has been a little sub-par for me but you all have continued to tell me it's good (if it's not don't hesitate to say otherwise) and it's encouraging. So without further ado I give you more story. MOVING ON…

Although it was not his first nosebleed, Booker held the cloth to his nose with wide eyes. Dorothy fought the urge to tease him, the ex-soldier had to have seen more blood than this on a regular basis, but he was nervous about a little nose bleed.

"Shit," Booker muttered. What was happening? How was he having these memories? Wasn't it all a dream? A horrible, horrible dream that was never going to happen because there was no way in hell Booker would have given Anna away. His eyes searched the floor for his daughter, relieved when she showed up from behind his chair and tried to climb up his leg. With his good arm, he reached down and picked up his daughter from the ground.

She was looking at him quizzically, if a little observantly. She reached for the cloth on his nose but Booker backed up far enough that she couldn't touch it. Anna noticed this and frowned, knowing that her father was trying to avoid her reach. She tried again, huffing loudly when Booker dodged her again. "DEH!" She complained loudly. For a finally attempt she reached for the cloth stopping when some stood in front of his door. The person whistled a tune a few times before stepping out of sight.

Booker remembered the tune vividly, it was used as a signal for Songbird to find Elizabeth. He glanced down at Anna who was giggling at the tune, turning so quickly she nearly fell off her father's lap if his arm hadn't been protectively around her. Her hands flapped merrily like a bird and she continued to giggle.

"Dorothy," Booker whispered. His nose was still bleeding as he stood to hand her Anna. He let the cloth fall, unnoticed, to the ground as he moved closer to speak just above a whisper. "Go into Anna's room. Don't come out until I say so."

"Mr. DeWitt who-?"

"I don't know," he said hotly. "Just stay out of sight until I come get you." He nudged her forward until he was certain he wouldn't slam the door on her. He reached into his desk, reaching for his pistol before slowly opening the door.

So far, the hallway was met with silence, the song was gone. The whistler with it, but Booker still felt uneasy. He took slow, quiet steps down the hall searching for anyone who had been passing that way. Certain that no one was there Booker turned around to his home when he noticed the door was wide open.

"God dammit," he charged forward into his room. He blinked a few times, trying to see if he was seeing the correct image but it looked an awful lot like Higgins was sitting on Booker's bed. He looked as though he'd been waiting a long time for Booker to return. His hands folded neatly across his stomach and his scraggly bearded chin tucked to his chest. He looked at Booker patiently, not at all fazed that he was staring down the barrel of Booker's gun.

"Mr. DeWitt," he said simply. Booker kept his weapon trained on Higgins, not budging for a second. "I am guessing you already know who I am. Otherwise I don't think you'd be pointing a gun at me."

"I tend to shoot things that come into my home uninvited," countered Booker. He drew back the hammer, ready to fire it if necessary.

"Yes I know," nodded Higgins. "That's why Noah and George are missing. Bringing your daughter into all of this was a low blow for me. So was having Dale and Charles try to take care of you before we ever met." He finally stood up to Booker, they were about the same size, though Higgins could not quite reach Booker's height. "I suppose I should apologize on each account."

"I suppose you should get the hell out if you know what's good for you."

"And then how would you find Norman?"

"How do I know he's still alive?"

"Oh he's alive alright," Higgins nodded. "Of that you have my word. I haven't harmed the boy. But as long as I have him, I have assurances that Hanson can't lay a hand on me."

"What makes you think I'm doing this for Hanson," Booker dared to step closer until he was nearly at the foot of his bed. "Maybe I'll just kill you for breaking into my home twice." If Higgins was intimidated he didn't show it.

"Mr. DeWitt," he said with a knowing smile. "I don't think you're properly equipped to kill me. Not if Wounded Knee was any indication of your sick methods. I have to ask, are Noah's and George's scalp lying around somewhere? I'm surprised you didn't mount them on the wall."

Booker's eyes narrowed, he wanted to reply that he could start a brand new collection but he didn't. He wanted to tell Higgins to go to hell, but he didn't. Instead he stared ahead with what most would have judged as calmness if not for his narrowed eyes burning a hole in Higgins head.

Thomas didn't like that look, it was not the intended reaction he had hoped to accomplish. He wanted Booker to rage and deny what he'd done, especially since Thomas knew Dorothy and the baby were in the next room. But Booker was not denying his deeds, he wasn't speaking at all. He was just looking at Higgins the way he did before he tore men apart piece by piece.

"Mr. DeWitt," continued Higgins. He wondered how hard he could push Booker before he broke. "How many families did you destroy back at Wounded Knee? Didn't you set fire to one of their wigwams while they were still inside? Cowering away from you?"

Booker's expression was as blank as it had been before. Higgins was getting angry now, he was trying to push Booker over the edge, to show him that he was no more innocent a man than Thomas was. "I think one of them women had a child no older than your little girl." There was it the smallest breach into Booker's defense, his face faltered but he quickly kept it in check. "Can you imagine Booker? If I dropped a torch right in front of – what's her name – Anna's door? All you can do is stand there listening to your poor little girl who can't understand why it's so hot, why it's so hard to breathe, and why her precious father isn't here to save-."

He was cut off by a bullet whizzing past his head. Booker had intended to miss, it was a warning shot. One with a very clear message; Thomas wouldn't have a chance to go anywhere near her. "I'm only going to give you one warning and that's because I need that boy alive," growled Booker. His expression was still stony but Thomas couldn't miss that burning hatred in his eyes. "But if you ever threaten my daughter again, it'll be the very last thing you ever do. That kid can rot for all I care."

Thomas was surprised by Booker's sudden reaction. There was no indication that he was really going to fire, no demands to stop but only just a sudden bullet and a warning to go along with it. With Booker's first and final warning, Thomas stood up face to face with the ex-Pinkerton. "Very well," Thomas nodded. "Hanson will find his son soon, when he's willing to strike a deal with the Unions. Until he does I'll be holding the boy with me. If I don't see or hear from Phillip in that time I will send him a reminder of what he's missing and what the stakes are. Until then my friend," Thomas held out a hand for Booker to shake. But Booker didn't take it, it was a risk, an unnecessary one. Thomas took the hint and nodded before heading to the door. "She is beautiful Booker. Your daughter, I mean. She is beautiful."

Booker nodded but still followed Thomas to the door before slamming it shut behind him. He sighed, he desperately needed a drink.

(A/N: Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry! I know I have been neglecting the story and I'm sorry. I really got into a book and couldn't put it down so I was reading on my down time instead of writing (sorry ). Anywho let me know what you think about this chapter. Did I rush it? Is it going too slow? Does the grammar suck? You all know the drill! Read, review, and remember: I love you!)


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry… MOVING ON… Sorry, sorry, sorry…

"You can come out now," Booker called to the woman on the other side of the door. "He's gone."

Dorothy hesitated but decided against keeping her employer waiting. She opened the door to Anna's room revealing a trembling nanny and child. Booker didn't miss the tear streaks on both sets of cheeks, nor did he miss the surprise on Dorothy's face when there was no body. "I tried to keep Anna as quiet as possible."

"I didn't even hear her," he said as he scooped his daughter out of Dorothy's arms and into his own. Anna clutched to him, relieved like Dorothy that he was alright, though a bit shaken. '_Can you imagine Booker? If I dropped a torch right in front of – what's her name – Anna's door? All you can do is stand there listening to your poor little girl who can't understand why it's so hot, why it's so hard to breathe, and why her precious father isn't here to save-.' _The words weighed heavy on him. Booker would have had to have been full of holes and already dead in order for Anna to be in any danger from a fire. But Booker never thought about the children in those small homes.

They were afraid of him, they were hiding, hoping soldiers would simply pass over them with so much as a second thought. The old, the sick, the women, the children – it did matter who was in that wigwam they were all killed by Booker's hand.

"Was it true what he said," asked Dorothy after a long pause. Booker glanced up at her, he really didn't want to talk about it with her. "About the family inside?"

"Yes," it came out as little more than a whisper. Mostly because Booker was still ashamed of his self after all the years since Wounded Knee. The other reason, though she was still small, was that he didn't Anna to know about it. He didn't want his daughter growing up thinking he was a monster and live the rest of her life in fear of him. "It was a long time ago. Let's leave it there." That was the end of that conversation. He stood back up, forgetting that he had offered his bed to Dorothy. He took Anna to her room, planting a kiss on her tiny cheeks before laying her in her crib.

When Booker carefully closed the door behind him, he strode to his cabinet and reached for the nearest bottle of whiskey, he was about to open the bottle when a hand placed over his own. He glanced back at Dorothy, a stern but not unkind look on her face. "This isn't going to make it go away."

"No," he admitted. "But it's going to make it sting a hell of a lot less." With that, he opened the bottle and took three long gulps. 'I killed a baby about Anna's age.' He tried not to imagine the sound of the baby's cries as it asphyxiated on the smoke, or perhaps the wailing as it tried to escape the heat. Was it crawling around like Anna does? Or was its mother clutching her little one to her breast as they awaited the inevitable? He lifted the bottle with renewed enthusiasm. Dorothy tried to stop him, but he easily side-stepped her.

"Booker," she chided but he ignored her. "Booker what are you going to do in that state if Anna needs you?"

"That's what you're here for," he answered before lifting the bottle once more to his lips. Much to Dorothy's surprise the bottle was already half gone. How could any man drink that much so quickly and still be conscious. "If you don't like how I live in my house then you can go somewhere else." Dorothy could hear the edges of drunkenness starting to impair his speech.

She suddenly became very angry with him. "If I did who would look over your daughter? Certainly not you! You're too busy pitying yourself to take care of her." That struck a nerve with him. He suddenly stopped and shot his gaze over to her. She was a little shocked with what she had said, and how quickly Booker caught what she said. "I… I-I…" she was suddenly very afraid he was going to strike her. She didn't put it past him, but she didn't want to be on the receiving end.

Slowly, but certainly, Dorothy began to back away from him. But Booker followed with his gaze, his face was stony again, but his eyes gave away what he was thinking, he was livid with what she had said. That looked frightened Dorothy the most, it was the look just after he killed someone, and possibly just before. "Booker I-I didn't m-mean it," she wanted to hide from him, though she doubted there would be anywhere for her to go. She had no doubt he could have easily outrun her. But he didn't move from his spot, it was a small relief to see that his pistol was on the desk and not in his hand.

In one quick jerking movement he slammed the bottle on the floor, shattering the bottle to pieces. He quickly walked across the room, to his desk. Dorothy bit her lip, this was it. He was going to kill her. "Go to bed Dorothy," he tossed the pistol in his drawer and laid his head down. Dorothy sat wide-eyed. He didn't destroy her. He didn't even lay a hand on her. He just broke the bottle in anger, but Dorothy couldn't help but wonder if she had been anyone else would he have thrown the bottle at her. She laid on the lumpy mattress, not daring to think about the discomfort and forced her eyes shut. She wondered if this was what Sam was talking about.

Booker slumped over his desk trying to force his self to sleep as well. Neither were very well rested the next morning.

Dorothy was surprised with how quickly and quietly Booker left the next morning. He told her he'd be gone most of the time, seeing as he had to find Norman and quick. Dorothy decided that it was a good time to try to tidy up his flat. Anna protested from her crib, but Dorothy didn't like the idea of the baby crawling around on the floor with broken glass from the previous night in Booker's fit of rage.

She picked up the shards as quick as she could, stopping and hissing when one pricked her finger. "Ow," she threw herself back and sucked on her finger for a second. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, and nearly leapt across the room when she reopened them and found Booker looking down at her. "Mr. DeWitt!" She cried with her hand over her breast.

"You okay?"

"Yes," she breathed heavily. "You just scared me nearly to death. Did you forget something Mr. DeWitt?"

"It's still Booker," he corrected her. "And no I was just coming home to check on Anna. I have an hour before I see Hanson today."

Dorothy nodded and continued her work. "I think she'd be glad to see you, she's not happy that I kept her in her crib this long." Booker didn't look pleased by that at all, he knelt down to observe her injured finger. "It's just a scratch, it'll heal."

"I'll get the glass just go get Anna," he nodded towards the door. "She'll scream to beat the band until someone does." Anna hadn't started her screaming fits, but he could be assured it would come soon. Dorothy started to protest again but Booker raised an eyebrow. "Ms. Small my fingers are far thicker than yours, this little bit of glass won't tear me to shreds now go get Anna." Dorothy still did not budge. "Dorothy, please go get Anna. That's your job isn't it?" He wanted to finish this sentence with, 'since I obviously can't do it', but stopped from continuing. He wasn't in the mood to continue the conversation from the night before.

Dorothy folded her arms and grunted, a clear sign she did not want to get Anna, but seeing as the glass would not have been broken if not for Booker's temper she did as she was told. When she emerged from the room, with one wiggly baby, he was nearly finished. Anna watched her father in fascination as he worked quickly, sharp pieces of glass that would have sliced Dorothy's fingers poked and prodded his own but he did not seem to mind.

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do," offered Dorothy. Anna was still trying to break out of her arms and reach Booker. "She is getting a little impatient." Booker shook his head and continued until he was sure there was nothing left on the floor for his daughter to attempt to put in her mouth. He threw the bits of broken glass away and sat back in his chair. Dorothy was a little surprised he didn't take Anna immediately seeing as he was there to check on her. "Is something wrong Booker?"

His gaze shot over to her, a lot like the night before. It was stony, but instead of the burning hatred in his eyes, she would have sworn she had seen the look of worry in them. She crossed the mostly empty room until Dorothy and Anna were in arms reach. "Hanson was considering a deal with Higgins."

"Isn't this a good thing?"

"No," he said bitterly. "It's really not. If he takes the deal then my services are useless. I don't get paid for being useless." Dorothy nodded in understanding, he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to provide for his daughter.

"Is that why you're meeting with him?

Booker nodded. "I have to convince him not to. I have to somehow make him believe that I can do something." He propped his elbows on the desk in front of him and let his head rest in his hands. "He's not too pleased that I didn't just put Higgins down last night. Hanson thinks I'm incompetent."

"He's a fool," exclaimed Dorothy. "How would you ever find Norman?"

Booker smirked at that. "I tried saying the same thing. He told me I was just being a coward and making excuses. Maybe he's right."

Dorothy scoffed, she'd seen this method before. It was how Philip got results he'd scare his workers into doing just what he wanted them too. He had tried that same method with Dorothy but she had quickly put her foot down when she noticed he was bluffing.

"No Booker I doubt he's right," said Dorothy after a short pause. "He's trying to make you uncomfortable so he'll get his results faster." Booker glanced up at her. Her hands were on her hips and her nose was turned upwards as though she was ready to scold him. "He's not going to take a deal from Mr. Higgins, he'd burn down the steel mill first. He does this to all his employees. This is why they're trying to rise against him. He always thinks he has an ace up his sleeve."

"I don't blame them," mumbled Booker. "Even still, I do need to work faster. The sooner I'm done with this deal, the sooner I can pay my debts."

Dorothy said nothing. She knew about Booker's debts – or as much as Sam would tell her about his debts – and she could also tell that he owed money to less than reputable men by the look of worry. She wondered how he had managed to feed Anna for so long if he was that short on money.

"Well I'm not going to solve anything in here," Booker stood from his desk. "I'll be late tonight. If you have even the slightest imagination that someone is trying to come in here and it's not me, I want you to get to your mother's again as fast as you can."

"Should I leave a note?"

"No," he said firmly. "I don't want to know where she lives, and I don't want anyone else to know it either. Just leave and come back tomorrow. If I'm not there, stay with your mother."

"You say this with the assumption that my mother is going to be okay with this," Dorothy's hands went back on her hips. She tapped her foot impatiently but not without the look of amusement.

Booker sighed, "Can she be bribed?"

"Can you buy the steel mill from under Mr. Hanson?" Booker rubbed the bridge of his nose. He very much wished he could afford the mill just so he would have never started this job in the first place. Dorothy patted him on the arm sympathetically. "I'll see what I can do with her. She told me the first time that she was doubtful she was ever going to have grandchildren."

Booker looked up past his finger as Dorothy questioningly. Dorothy tilted her head at his gaze, reviewing what she'd said before yelping in surprise. "I mean," She corrected, "she does not expect either of her daughters to have children. She was quite pleased to have a little one crawling around that I was taking care of. It is the closest thing right now."

"You never brought Norman around?"

"He's the son of the man she abhors," answered Dorothy. "I didn't want Norman being brought around her spite. But Anna, she melted my mother's heart almost instantly. I'm almost sure she'd have no problem with her."

"Good," said Booker. "I need to meet up with Hanson." He handed her a small wad of cash. "I don't have much here; pick something up for you and Anna if you need it." He kissed Anna before turning to leave. He stopped at the door for a minute. "By the way, about yesterday," He took a deep breath like he didn't want to say it but he knew he had to. "I'm sorry." He opened the door and closed it.

Dorothy and Anna stood there in the silence for a long time. She considered his apology for a long time, it didn't sound forced and so she guessed he was being sincere with her. She felt a little more comfortable in his home for that reason. He was trying to be cordial with her, even if he didn't have to be. She was being paid to be here, and she was stuck whether she liked it or not. But she supposed it could have been worse. She could have been unemployed and starving on the streets.

Dorothy readied Anna to leave for the market. The whole time they walked, she tried to figure out Booker. "I don't think I'll ever figure that man out." She had meant to say it to herself. But, if Dorothy didn't know any better, she could have sworn Anna was nodding and sympathizing. Dorothy laughed, maybe he just had that effect on women.

(A/N: Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. Read, review, and remember: I love you! Sorry, sorry, sorry!)


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